they use is made out of a piece of hollow wood, which must be either fir, pine, or birch, and which grows in such a particular place that it follows the course of the sun; that is, the pectines, fibræ, and lineæ in the annual rings of the wood must wind from right to left. Having hollowed out such a tree, they spread a skin over it, fastened down with little pegs; and on the centre of the skin is painted the sun, surrounded by figures of men, beasts, birds, and fishes, along with Christ and the holy Apostles. All this is done with the rind of the elder-tree, chewed first beneath their teeth. Upon the top of the drum there is an index in the shape of a triangle, from which hang a number of little rings and chains. When the wizard wishes to propitiate Satan and receive his power, he strikes the drum with a hammer made of the reindeer's horn, not so much to procure a sound as to set the index in motion with all its little chains, that it may move over the figures, and point to whatever gives the required answer. At the same time the magician murmurs conjurations, springs sometimes up from the ground, screams, laughs, dances, reels, becomes black in the face, foams, twists his eyes, and falls to the ground at last in an ecstasy, dragging the drum down upon his face.
Any one may then put questions to him, and all will come to pass that he answers. All this was done by the wizard; but he desired strictly that when he fell upon the ground, no one should touch him with the foot, and secondly, that all flies and insects should be kept carefully from him. So after he had danced, and screamed, and twisted his face so horribly that half the women fainted, and foamed and raged until the demon seemed to have taken full possession of him, he fell down, and then every one put questions to him, to which he responded; but the answers sometimes produced weeping, sometimes laughing, according as some gentle maiden heard that her lover was safe, or that he had been struck by the mast on shipboard and tumbled into the sea. And all came out true, as was afterwards proved.
Sidonia now invited the Prince to try his fortune; and so, forgetting the admonitions of the Duchess, he said, "What dost thou prophesy to me?"
"Beware of a woman, if you would live long and happily," was the answer.
"But of what woman?"
"I will not name her, for she is present."
Then the Prince turned pale and looked at Sidonia, who grew pale also, but made no answer, only laughed, and advancing asked, "What dost thou prophesy to me?" But immediately the wizard shrieked, "Away! away! I burn, I burn! thou makest me yet hotter than I am!"
Many thought these exclamations referred to Sidonia's beauty, particularly the young lords, who murmured, "Now every one must acknowledge her beauty, when even this son of Satan feels his heart burning when she approaches." And Sidonia laughed merrily at their gallantries.
Just then the Grand Chamberlain came by, and having heard what had happened, he angrily dismissed the crowd, and sending for the executioner, ordered the cheating impostor to be whipped and branded, and then sent over the frontier.
The wizard, who had been lying quite stiff, now cried out (though he had never seen the Chamberlain before)—"Listen, Ulrich! I will prophesy something to thee: if it comes not to pass, then punish me; but if it does, then give me a boat and seven loaves, that I may sail away to-morrow to my own country."
Ulrich refused to hear his prophecy; but the wizard cried out—"Ulrich, this day thy wife Hedwig will die at Spantekow."
Ulrich grew pale, but only answered, "Thou liest! how can that be?" He replied, "Thy cousin Clas will visit her; she will descend to the cellar to fetch him some of the Italian wine for which you wrote, and which arrived yesterday; a step of the stairs will break as she is ascending; she will fall forward upon the flask, which will cut her throat through, and so she will die."
When he ceased, the alarmed Ulrich called loudly to the chief equerry, Appelmann, who just then came by—"Quick! saddle the best racer in the stables, and ride for life to Spantekow, for it may be as he has prophesied, and let us outwit the devil. Haste, haste, for the love of God, and I will never forget it to thee!"
So the equerry rode without stop or stay to Spantekow, and he found the cousin Clas in the house; but when he asked for the Lady Hedwig, they said, "She is in the cellar." So no misfortune had happened then; but as they waited and she appeared not, they descended to look for her, and lo! just as the wizard had prophesied, she had fallen upon the stairs while ascending, and there lay dead.
The mournful news was brought by sunset to Wolgast, and Ulrich, in his despair and grief, wished to burn the Laplander; but Prince Ernest hindered him, saying, "It is more knightly, Ulrich, to keep your word than to cool your vengeance." So the old man stood silent a long space, and then said, "Well, young man, if you abandon Sidonia, I will release the Laplander."
The Prince coloured, and the Lord Chamberlain thought that he had discovered a secret; but as the prophecy of the wizard came again into Prince Ernest's mind, he said—
"Well, Ulrich, I will give up the maiden Sidonia. Here is my hand."
Accordingly, next morning the wizard was released from prison and given a boat, with seven loaves and a pitcher of water, that he might sail back to his own country. The wind, however, was due north, but the people who crossed the bridge to witness his departure were filled with fear when they saw him change the wind at his pleasure to suit himself; for he pulled out a string full of knots, and having swung it about, murmuring incantations, all the vanes on the towers creaked and whirled right about, all the windmills in the town stopped, all the vessels and boats that were going up the stream became quite still, and their sails flapped on the masts, for the wind had changed in a moment from north to south, and the north waves and the south waves clashed together.
As every one stood wondering at this, the sailors and fishermen in particular, the wizard sprang into his boat and set forth with a fair wind, singing loudly, "Jooike Duara! Jooike Duara!" [Footnote: This is the beginning of a magic rhyme, chanted even by the distant Calmucks—namely, Dschie jo eie jog.] and soon disappeared from sight, nor was he ever again seen in that country.
CHAPTER VII.
How Ulrich von Schwerin buries his spouse, and Doctor Gerschovius comforts him out of God's Word.
This affair with the Lapland wizard much troubled the Grand Chamberlain, and his faith suffered sore temptations. So he referred to Dr. Gerschovius, and asked him how the prophets of God differed from those of the devil. Whereupon the doctor recommended him to meditate on God's Word, wherein he would find a source of consolation and a solution of all doubts.
So the mourning Ulrich departed for his castle of Spantekow, trusting in the assistance of God. And her Grace, with all her court, resolved to attend the funeral also, to do him honour. They proceeded forth, therefore, dressed in black robes, their horses also caparisoned with black hangings, and the Duchess ordered a hundred wax lights for the ceremony. Sidonia alone declined attending, and gave out that she was sick in bed. The truth, however, was, that as Duke Ernest was obliged to remain at home to take the command of the castle, and affix his signature to all papers, she wished to remain also.
The mourning cortège, therefore, had scarcely left the court, when Sidonia rose and seated herself at the window, which she knew the young Prince must pass along with his attendants on their way to the office of the castle. Then taking up a lute, which she had purchased privately, and practised night and morning in place of learning the catechism, she played a low, soft air, to attract their attention. So all the young knights looked up; and when Prince Ernest arrived he looked up also, and seeing Sidonia, exclaimed, with surprise, "Beautiful Sidonia, how have you learned the lute?" At which she blushed and answered modestly, "Gracious Prince, I am only self-taught. No one here understands the lute except your Highness."
"Does this employment, then, give you much pleasure?"
"Ah, yes! If I could only play it well; I would give half my life to learn it properly. There is no such sweet enjoyment upon earth, I think, as this."
"But you have been sick, lady,